


spins her web and sells her spells

by milkteeth



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:05:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkteeth/pseuds/milkteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s an art to pinning your hair back before heading out to a crime scene, Tony thinks that Ziva has mastered it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spins her web and sells her spells

If there’s an art to pinning your hair back before heading out to a crime scene, Tony thinks that Ziva has mastered it.

He’s taken to watching her as she sweeps the long dark strands back from her neck and tugs them into a hair tie, twisting and snapping it into place as she walks to the elevator. As natural as though she’s chewing gum.

This is the week he becomes obsessed by her hair. Notices how she wears it into the office in the mornings; sometimes half pulled back with loose strands falling in front of her eyes, frizzy and curling all over like she hasn’t had the chance to brush it out between catching their guy and filing the paperwork the night before. Other times, coiled effortlessly ‘round her neck in soft waves. Slipping past her shoulders every time she turns her head.

He’s in awe of how quickly she can tug it into a tight bun as they’re called out to the next case regardless, pulling pins from her pockets and sliding them in two at a time with practiced ease.

She catches him staring in the elevator once as she’s fastening a knot at the back of her head, and raises an eyebrow quizzically. He blinks away before she can fish the remaining pins out from between her teeth and say anything. Makes a mental note to stop showing his hand so easily. (It’s been happening more and more these days.)

The day she wears it hanging long and straight against her shoulders, her back, he can’t stop staring. Has to consciously stop himself from reaching out to touch the silken expanse of it more than once.

“You’re being weird,” she mutters when they get back from the crime scene mid-morning. She’s sitting at her desk clicking away at her computer and doesn’t even bother to look over at him when she says it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, and stalks off to the copier before she can prove him wrong.

 

That night he dreams her hair is a dark, soft curtain protecting them as they kiss. He’s staring up at her as she moves in closer, ducking to press her lips to his neck right where his pulse is stuttering to a stop.

When he wakes up, he decides he needs a hobby.

(But then she’s always _there_ , a glance away in the office, forever lurking in his mind’s eye. Inescapable.)

 

He closes his eyes again, willing dreamless slumber.

 

It doesn’t bear thinking; next week it will just be something else.


End file.
